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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583591">If it comes back, it was yours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead'>Bead</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bead's Original Poems &amp; Such. [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:35:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Poems pre-empted or emptied by pain stuff.</p><p>Not sure about the title.</p><p>This work is not for reproduction elsewhere by anyone other than the writer herself and does not have written copyright permission.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bead's Original Poems &amp; Such. [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If it comes back, it was yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I am a bear of very little brain this week.<br/>
There's a poem trying to get out.<br/>
Cards I want to write.<br/>
Points I want to make.<br/>
Texts I want to send<br/>
Calls I want to make<br/>
Songs I want to record<br/>
Things I should be paying attention to.<br/>
I forget everything these days.<br/>
I mean there are poems neither of us will ever see,<br/>
stories I can't poke at because the jolts took them away or the pain too big, my body too sore.<br/>
Sometimes the words come back.<br/>
I've learned some tricks.<br/>
None of the poems did; none of the distilling and cutting and honing I did in my head as I have these last few decades when I HAD to start here, though my brain writes better, hands on a keyboard.<br/>
I had to wait to use them until I was sure I had a sure place to start.<br/>
My words halt and my brain fuzzes.<br/>
The picture shorts out.<br/>
The feeling stays, so I know the tune but not the words.<br/>
Lost.<br/>
I can't always get back.<br/>
I wait, hoping they'll come and curl back under my fingers more than half-wary of the noise and violence my body sometimes produces.<br/>
I get it.<br/>
I have cats.<br/>
And an introverted beloved.<br/>
I know not to look for the lost too directly,<br/>
and wait for<br/>
Perhaps<br/>
feel the soft brush of words under my fingers, venturing back when it is safe.<br/>
I hope I do.<br/>
This one felt</p><p>Good.</p><p>May 18, 2020 SHP.</p>
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